The Rose
by Silvermoone
Summary: A short story about Alistair and the Warden.


**The Rose**

Alistair memorised her beautiful profile as she lay there with the sunlight glinting off her copper highlights. He took a step forward, arm reaching out to her and then stopped himself. His gaze dropped to the blood red rose in his hand and his mind opened up to a wealth of memories - a reflection of their time together.

With a chuckle, he remembered their first meeting in the ruins of Ostagar. Maker's breath, he'd made such a fool of himself; even though she'd always told him that wasn't true, that he'd come across as very cute and friendly. He made a face - cute and friendly wasn't how he'd wanted her to see him.  
However, as the days had turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, they'd found themselves being drawn closer together. He'd been happy to stand back and admire her courage as she had faced the daunting task of reuniting Ferelden. Whatever had been asked of her, she had been ready and willing to take on the job, usually with a smile and a joke on her lips.

With embarrassing clarity, he remembered the night in camp when she'd dropped some less than subtle hints about liking him. Maker! He'd been so excited he'd had to excuse himself from the conversation until he'd calmed down. But he had soon returned to her, encouraged by the gentle smile she'd given him. Soon after that conversation, they'd shared their first kiss. He put his hand to his mouth, remembering the sweet, warm taste of her lips.

Her courage had known no bounds - she had faced the abominations in the Circle as easily as she'd faced the werewolves in the Brecilian Forest and the darkspawn in the Deep Roads. Whenever a friend had been flagging, her fearless spirit would renew them. She had shown them the way to victory, like a beacon shining in the darkest of nights.

There was nothing she wouldn't have done for her friends, always going out of her way to help them with whatever had troubled their hearts and souls. When she'd tracked down Asala, Sten's sword, the expression on his face had been the closest they'd ever come to seeing the big Qunari smile.  
Acting as his wingman, she'd reunited Oghren with Felsi. The Crows had been removed from Zevran's path, leaving the Antivan elf free to do whatever he wanted - it spoke volumes that he'd chosen to stay with her. Marjolaine was no longer an issue for Leliana, and Wynne had laid to rest her deepest regret. Morrigan was free of her peculiar mother; and finally, for the golem Shale, it had been enough that she knew her true identity.

Never had she requested anything in return, not even their friendship. Yet that was something they had all freely given to her as their respect and admiration grew.

The feelings of the two Grey Wardens had soon blossomed into love. A smile played across Alistair's lips as he relived their first night together. He'd been so nervous, stammering so much that he'd barely been able to tell her how he felt, but she'd smiled, told him she loved him, and the trepidation had disappeared.

Briefly, he felt the impression of her hand resting in his, and the memories dispersed like dew on a hot day. He raised his head, letting his gaze rest on her pale skin, now lit with golden streaks from the sun. Alistair blinked and lifted a hand to cover his eyes, silently cursing the bright rays. Then, once again, the memories washed over him and he reluctantly gave into them.

At the Landsmeet, she'd gained the support of the nobles, ousting Loghain from his position of power and reinstating the good reputation of the Grey Wardens. When the terms of the duel had been proclaimed, she'd chosen Alistair as her Champion, giving him the chance to avenge Duncan's death. She had announced that he would be King and that she would rule by his side. After recovering from the initial shock, Alistair had realised that this meant they would be married, and visions of their life together had flitted through his mind, filling his heart with joy and love.

They had marched to the capital of Ferelden, standing side by side with the armies they had gathered. There, her bravery and compassion had saved the people of Denerim and the remaining elves in the Alienage before continuing towards Fort Drakon. The battle to reach the Archdemon had been long and brutal; they had fought through so many darkspawn that in the end, their armour had dripped with blood. Finally, on the rooftop, with the Archdemon nearly dead, she had framed his face with gentle hands, told him that she would always love him and then tenderly kissed him. No further words had been spoken, none had been needed.

With fierce determination, she had then grabbed a sword, charged the Archdemon with a ferocious battle cry and sunk the blade into its skull. There had been a moment of silence - a reverent hush as the world recognised and paid tribute to her courageous sacrifice, before a bright stream of light had dispelled the darkened skies and a shockwave had blasted outwards, knocking over those still remaining on the rooftop.

His memories dimmed as the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving in its wake a dark orange sky tinted with dusk.

Alistair took a step forward, and this time he kept walking until he reached her side. His outstretched hand trembled as it brushed against her pale skin. Love and grief warred within him as he bent over her body, and a lonely teardrop fell from his face to splash against her soft cheek. He remembered her warmth as his mouth pressed against lips that were now cold with death.  
"I love you, too," he whispered brokenly, sadness making it difficult to talk.

Sorrowfully, he laid the rose between her hands, recalling her smile when he'd first given her the blood-red bloom. A moment longer he allowed himself to look upon her beauty, to remember her loving heart, and then he straightened up and looked over the crowd gathered around the pyre. "My friends, we are gathered here to pay our respects to the Grey Warden who saved us all."


End file.
